Pass the Waffles.
I feel lied to.
A week ago, what I wanted to do was sit down, watch Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, and eat an enormous stack of Belgian Waffles, extra syrup. I mean, like, EXTRA, bitch, drown my sadness in sugared tree sap.
I had a killer job offer, sales for a tech support firm in Hamilton, NJ, with pay above my current grade plus commission when I begin to actually make sales. After three interviews with the VP of the company, a lot of research, and several intensive talks with my former super-salesman uncle about how to interview, how to sell, how to whatever, the VP brings me in, sits me down. He can't offer me the job anymore, unless I want to become a freelancer, with no hourly wage, and no compensation for gas, etc, just the possibility of commissions down the line.
Hurt and angry, I proceeded to get into a depressive funk, punctuated by the insanity of going through and processing applications for a new wireless sales kiosk at work. Ever have to find people with open availability, call them, schedule an interview, hope they show up (half of them didn't) then try to interview them with corporate bullshit? It fucking blows.
Anyway. It doesn't help that I've been in a bit of a depressive funk since my 102 degree fever and an improv performance which I think I bombed in. However, Erin turns to me one day after finally getting interviews set up at a few local banks, asking me have I ever thought about becoming a personal trainer?
I admit I have not. It's a great idea though, It's a passion of mine, I'd lost the weight, I'm working to get bigger and stronger at least four times a week at the gym....and chocolate protein shakes (with 60g of protein) have become my drink of choice. All I'd need to do...
Is actually not as much as I'd expected. There's certification tests, which I'm still looking into, but before that, I'm going to be signing up for a preparation class at Bucks this fall, by the end of it I'll be ready to take the exam and be free to train whoever, whenever.
First things first, I'd like to look like a trainer. Henceforth, I'm on a more extreme version of my diet than before. Clementines and bananas and pineapples are now my bitch, and carbs are the immortal enemy (I'm still eating them, but maybe at 1/8th the level I have been). I've cranked up the weight and the number of exercises at the gym, and I've added several 3.5 mile bike rides into my week, followed by 50 crunches, leg lifts and push ups (I want to double that by the end of the year). I need bigger biceps, a bulkier chest, and I need to find my abs. They're in there somewhere.
Hopefully I'll feel ready by the fall, I'll be doing more research as I go into the test, the class, and myself as to how I can market myself. I started working out because I no longer wanted to be Fat Gandalf, and from the pictures and experience I've seen at comic-cons, there are way too many people that don't dress their body type. Maybe that's my niche.
Too fat to be Batman? Don't worry, Master Wayne, I can help.
After all, this was me.
Down a total of 55 pounds, up to lifting 500+ pounds with my legs, rocking solid biceps and a single chin that's been called "Chiseled," I'm finally getting there.
Let's rock this bastard.